


Loss and Love

by irishlullaby13



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: After the passing of her mother, Abbie receives an unexpected visitor that has come to pay his respects.Warning: There is mentioning and some details concerning suicide in the first chapter and possibly in the additional chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl/gifts).



> Originalimpossiblesoufflegirl just sort of popped in with the prompt of:
> 
> crane as abbie's best friend's older brother who notices she's grown into a very sexy and beautiful woman after coming back from studying and/or fighting abroad
> 
>  
> 
> I ended up writing this instead.

Ichabod Crane somberly made his way through customs. Normally he enjoyed journeying home to America for business. But not this time. This time his business just happened to correlate with the funeral of a most beloved adult friend from his childhood.

He always enjoyed stopping in at her house on his visits and showing off some fantastic find he was personally transporting to a museum and giving a lecture on. 

Miss Lori's eyes would be aglow as he told her the rich and vibrant history behind the piece. Then she would feed him as mother's are wont to do. His visits would always end with a tight hug and a kiss on his cheek. Then she would thank him for visiting because, even though her girls still resided in Sleepy Hollow, they had their own busy lives and rarely came to see her.

He had known Miss Lori was sick. He had even found out where she got her medications filled and paid for them in advance so she wouldn't have to struggle. Of course he never told _her_ that's why her medicine had never cost her a dime. He simply let her revel in the fact the Lord was providing for her. There may have also been several anonymous donations to her treatments.

He had tried not to get too carried away because if he so much as brought her a special treat from town, she would pay his face and sweetly inform him, _It's not your place to take care of me, baby. The Lord will provide._

And he would always point out that she was the closest he had to a mother since his own passed. And good sons always took care of their mothers. That would always earn a bright smile from Miss Lori.

His father had been the one to give him the call. _“Miss Lori from next door passed.” Just as dry and stern as he had told him his mother had died when he was ten. “I think Abigail said the funeral will be next week.”_

Next week being _now._ Until receiving the call from his father, Ichabod had planned to show off some stone tablets that were believed to be Sumerian in origin. Now they were just some bits of rock that he was going to be helping translate. He had never thought about how half of his excitement was showing off to Miss Lori.

He closed his eyes and sighed as the agent took one look at the tablets and scowled. “We're going to need to see some paperwork on this.”

Deep down he knew it wouldn't be so simple as showing the paperwork and being on his way. However, being compliant would assure he would at least make it to Miss Lori's funeral in time.

#

They hadn't been home when it happened. Thankfully. Although their mother had probably purposely waited until she knew they wouldn't be there, able to stop her.

She had gone as far as to call 9-1-1 and told them what she was going to do. And that they should send an ambulance so her girls didn't find her. 

Abbie kept replaying the recording in her head. _Just let my babies know I couldn't take the pain anymore. It just hurts so much. They ain't to blame. The treatments and everything were just… too much. I just want the pain to stop._

Abbie hadn't even know her mom had cancer. But that was going to be the cause of death that was in the paper. No one had to know Lori Mills had died by suffocating herself. That she was found with a trash bag over her head, her own lifeless hand clenching it sealed fast around her neck.

“Glori 'Lori’ Mills passed after a long struggle with cancer” sounded much better than “tragically and unexpectedly passed away.”

Very few people knew her mom had taken her own life. Abbie was pretty sure during the wake there would be many variations of “Cancer. How terrible… poor woman” to be heard. Mama would get soft, tender looks instead of awkward, judgemental stares. People would mention how they never knew she was struggling because she always looked so vibrant.

 _God dammit!_ Abbie squeezed her eyes shut and punched the wall. It was while cradling her hand to her chest that Abbie let herself cry. It was easier to say she was crying because she hurt her hand than because she was falling apart.

Why hadn't Mama said she was sick? Why hadn't Mama sought out help for her depression? Why had Mama made sure her and Jenny knew it wasn't their fault? 

How could she have known that Abbie would blame herself for not visiting often enough? That Abbie would regret making excuses for missing out on Sunday Dinner more often than coming to to them. How could Mama had known Abbie would be left behind wondering _would she have done it if I visited more often?_

Good thing was, Jenny didn't know it was suicide. Abbie had already spoken with the right people to keep Jenny _from_ knowing. At least until after the funeral. Abbie would tell her after the funeral and after Jenny had time to mourn Mama properly.

Jenny was too unpredictable. There was no telling how Jenny would react if she knew beforehand. If Abbie waited until Jenny had found peace with Mama's passing, she might take it more in stride.

Especially if the insurance company tried to play games.

Abbie's head jerked up as a knock echoed through Mama's house. Who the hell would be knocking on her mother's door when everyone in the neighborhood knew she had passed away? And this late at night?

She made her way down the stairs and opened the door. The man in the other side looked just as perplexed by her answering as she was by his being there.

He looked down and shuffled his feet nervously. “Apologies. I hadn't realized someone would be here,” he said quietly. “Sorry for bothering you.”

Abbie tilted her head as he turned away. An unfamiliar person knocking on her dead Mama's door, this time of night, _knowing_ there wouldn't be an answer. This was someone who knew Mama. “Wait,” Abbie said softly.

He stopped and turned but didn't meet her eyes as he shook his head. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I can't help it. It's compulsory. I thought if I did it this time of night there would be less of a chance of someone answering… but clearly I was wrong. Sorry again. And… my condolences on your loss.”

“Why would it be compulsory for you to knock on my Mama's door?” Abbie asked.

He finally looked up. Abbie was struck by the clear _blueness_ of his eyes. “Miss Lori was a dear friend of mine,” he admitted quietly. “I… I always made certain to visit when I was in town. I… I know she's passed but I still had the insistent desire to knock on her door and pay her a visit.”

“Come on in,” Abbie said softly, stepping back to let him in.


	2. Chapter 2

Abbie scowled as she watched the strange man make his way around the kitchen with the familiarity of someone who lived there. He even knew where Mama kept the electric kettle for crying out loud! Even she didn't know that! Actually, she hadn't even known Mama had an electric kettle.

Why was he soaking dish towels in hot water in the sink?

The more Abbie watched him, the more annoyed she became. It was suddenly becoming less comforting to have this stranger in her Mama's house. “So, how did you know Mama?”

He removed a tin from the cabinet over the fridge, opened it, and deeply inhaled the contents. “Bless you Miss Lori,” he sighed with a gentle smile. He looked at Abbie as he set the tin on the island with the other supplies he had fetched. “When I was much younger, I lived next door. Jonathan Crane, her neighbour, is my father.” His eyes danced as he gazed at her. “If I'm not mistaken, there were a many times I would babysit Jenny while you partook in sports.”

Abbie blinked at him a moment. “Oh!” she squeaked. “I remember you now. The tall awkward kid Jenny had a crush on.”

He chuckled and retrieved a jug of spring water to pour into the kettle until it was about half full. “Evidentially so. Although I, apparently, never caught on.”

“So how often did you visit my mom?” Abbie asked curiously. “'Cause you sure seem to know your way around this kitchen.”

“My work brings me stateside about every month to a month and a half. I would visit with her often while here,” he replied with a gentle shrug. “We would have tea and I would share an artefact I was bringing to the museum for translating.” At Abbie's cocked brow he added, “I know that look… It's only for aging and translation. I'm a linguist with a specialization in dead and archaic languages. Most of the items I bring get returned to the regions they were found, lest they wish to sell or loan it to the museum.”

Abbie's eyes widened. “Wow. That sounds like it could either be really boring or really exciting. You know, I can't remember what your name is. All I can remember is that it was something unusual.”

It was his turn to look stunned. He quickly out down all the items in his hand and walked around the island. “Forgive me,” he said lightly. “My manners seem to have disappeared…” He held out his hand, palm up.

Abbie delicately placed her hand in his and felt more than a little embarrassed when he bowed over her hand. “Dr. Ichabod Crane at your services, madam.”

“Abbie Mills,” she said quietly.

He stopped just short of kissing her hand before leaning back up and releasing her hand. After a moment, he returned to his mission of making tea. Abbie watched his every methodical movement, from the way he carefully measured the amount of tea to put in the little basket of the pot, to how thoroughly he wrung out the warm towels and wrapped them around the teapot, to how long he waited before pouring the water into the pot.

_Ichabod Crane_. Oh she remembered him now. How she used to come home to find him and Jenny sword fighting with wooden swords and how he would insist he couldn't leave until Mama got home. More than once he had offered to have them both babysit Jenny the last hour and Abbie would always say _Sure, if you give me half of what my mama pays you._

Then he would give her a blank look until she shrugged and said, _your loss_ , and trampled upstairs. Turns out, Mama never paid him, he just happened to be at the house when she had to run to the store so he would offer to sit with Jenny until her return.

Jenny had the biggest crush on him and would try to get him to play games that would get him to kiss her--and much to Jenny's dismay, he (as the prince rescuing the sleeping princess) would _always_ insist he couldn't give the princess a kiss to break the sleeping spell. His reasoning was, she was still a little girl so he had to go find a prince closer to her age to break the spell.

But Jenny had always insisted that one day they would get married. Of course that was also before Jenny found out girls were an option and married the girl of her dreams.

Abbie was having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact she had seen him in nearly twelve years but he had apparently been very actively visiting Mama. It just added another layer of guilt on to Abbie's soul. 

Ichabod seemed none the wiser to Abbie's internal struggle as he prepared two cups of tea and set one in front of the seat Mama had always perched on. Abbie watched as realization washed over his features and he shook his head gently.

_Compulsory_ , Abbie recalled. _Habit_. He knew his way around the kitchen because it was a _habit_ for him to make himself and Mama cups of tea when he visited.

_“Abbie, baby, are you joining me for Sunday dinner?”_ She could still hear Mama's soft voice through the phone. _“Jenny and Sophie are bringing the baby over. And there's someone I would really like for you to talk to coming. He's really a sweet boy, I think you two would get on well.”_

_“I have to work, Mama, not this time. Maybe next week.”_

Ichabod frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… would you care for…” he said, his voice trembling as he drew the cup back toward himself. “I…”

“Sure, I'll be happy to take it,” Abbie said gently, taking the cup from his trembling hands. He sighed with relief as she placed the cup in front of herself.

“Did you wish for sugar or cream or honey?” Ichabod asked. “Miss Lori never took anything in her tea. Come to think of it, I don't think she ever actually _drank_ the tea.”

Abbie fought the petty urge to say _Mama didn't like tea._ Because, apparently there were several things she hadn't known about Mama. Here she was, thinking this guy had permanently left when she was in high school. But evidently he had frequently been in and out of her house visiting Mama.

She watched him prepare his own cup of tea, adding just a hint of milk to the bottom of the cup before pouring his tea. He didn't sit, simply stood there and sipped his tea.

After a moment he set it down and stared at her curiously. “Did… what I mean is…” he stammered. “Do you know if she went peacefully?”

Abbie felt her heart plummet and she fought back tears. _There was evidence of her taking a large dose benzodiazepines. So there's a good chance she may have died of an overdose before suffocation. They'll be looking into everything to get an actual cause of death. We might be able to declare that it was an accidental overdose._ “They said it was like she just… fell asleep and didn't wake up.”

Ichabod closed his eyes and bowed his head gently. “If ever a soul deserved a peaceful exit from this world, it was Miss Lori.”

God, Abbie wanted so bad to hate this man. Because how dare he be concerned whether or not Mama went peacefully. “Did you know she was sick?” When he lightly nodded, Abbie looked down at her hands. “I didn't know. What kind of daughter doesn't know her Mama was dying?”

To her surprise, he walked around the island and took her hand in both of his. “This was of her own choosing. She did not even let Jenny know how bad it was at times. The only reason I was aware was because she had a fainting spell during one of my visits and I rushed her to the hospital.”

“But Jenny at least _knew_ Mama was sick,” Abbie said, her voice quivering. Did he know about the depression too, Abbie wondered. Or did Mama put on a bright, cheerful face when he came around? “I didn't even know…”

Ichabod raised his hand and wiped a tear away from Abbie's cheek with his thumb. “It's perfectly acceptable to mourn, Abbie.”

In most circumstances Abbie knew she would have given him an incredulous look and maybe told him to mind his own business. But his voice was tender and caring. His hand were warm on her face. She burrowed her body into his embrace and let the tears flow.

There was no stopping them herself once they started. The stranger that wasn't exactly completely a stranger held her, as though she looked delicate and fragile but he knew she was made of something much stronger. Something that was perfectly capable of weathering the coming storm but offered support and protection nonetheless.

Once she had cried herself out, Abbie pulled back and frowned at the large damp spot on his shirt. “Urgh,” she scoffed. “I got God knows what all over your shirt. I'm sorry… I don't know what came over me. I'm not normally this emotional.”

“Why would you apologize for mourning your mother?” Ichabod asked kindly. He tilted her chin up and smiled softly. “Rest assured, everything can be washed. So there is nothing to apologize for.”

His eyes studied her face, his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he focused on her mouth. Then a hint of guilt breezed over his features. “Your mother always spoke of you with immense pride. She loved you so very much.”

His other hand came up and brushed her hair away from her face. For the life of her, Abbie couldn't figure out why she didn't want to push him away. Normally she shirked away from such intimacies. But she was taking comfort from his gentle touches and his assurances that Mama had loved her.

Abbie watched has his sucked in a sharp breath. Her heart stammered as he leaned in. Her eyes fluttered closed as he placed the gentlest of kisses on the apple of her cheek. Abbie turned her head just enough that she could nuzzle against his jaw as he pulled away.

He didn't pull back far, remained close enough that Abbie could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. Abbie curled her fingers against his shirt until it was gripped in her fists. They stayed that way for a long moment--invading each other’s space, as though debating stretching the precious seconds into minutes or hours.

“Do you have anywhere to stay while in town?” Abbie asked.

Ichabod made a soft sound as he trailed his fingers along her jaw then cupped the back of her neck in his palm. “Most unfortunately, I do,” he murmured. “My father is expecting me.”

Abbie rested her forehead against her hands as the clock chimed out the hour of eleven. “It's late,” she said quietly. “Don't want to keep your dad up waiting.”

She pulled from his embrace and patted his chest. “Thanks for… letting me cry on you,” Abbie half laughed, then sniffled delicately. She looked up at him and tried to shake away the healing comfort she had felt in his arms.

“Any time,” Ichabod replied, his hands clasped behind his back, as he shuffled from one foot to the other. “I suppose I should clean up my mess bef--”

Abbie waved her hands. “I got it. Go let your dad know you made it home safe.” She stared blankly at her cup of tea and felt her heart ache for Mama. “Spend time with him while you still have him.”

She did her best to have him out of the door the moment she saw his resolve begin to break. Deep down, Abbie knew if she had asked, he would have stayed. But she couldn't help but think of his dad, sitting at his own kitchen table, worrying over Ichabod’s arrival. The same way her mom must have done on numerous Sunday dinners.

From what Abbie could tell, he had acted as a good son to her Mama. And she wasn't going to stand in the way of him continuing to be a good son to his father. 

After she shut the door behind him, Abbie hid her face in her hands and began to sob anew.

#

Ichabod took a deep breath as he entered his father's house. After setting his bags and suitcase next to the stairs, he followed the soft golden glow of light to the kitchen. His father was seated at the table, spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, studying the screen of a tablet. 

“Ichabod,” he said by way of greeting.

“Jonathan,” Ichabod responded with a light nod.

He hadn't been expecting a fanfaire or exuberant hugs. In fact, his arrival had gone precisely as Ichabod had thought it would. Ichabod walked directly to the refrigerator and smirked gently when he saw Jonathan had tucked two six packs of bottled Guinness on the bottom shelf. One was missing.

“I took liberties of placing one in the freezer about half an hour ago,” Jonathan commented dryly. “It should be to your liking.”

“Thank you,” Ichabod replied and retrieved the bottle from the freezer. He sat at the table, in the seat perpendicular to Jonathan. Ichabod twisted the cap off the bottle and took a drink.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before his father set down his tablet and removed his glasses. Ichabod had expected his father to wish him a good night and get up from the table to retire for the evening. Instead, Ichabod was taken aback that his father reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“She was a fine, outstanding woman,” Jonathan stated. “Remember her as such and she will always be with you.” Ichabod blinked at his father as he rose from his seat. Jonathan patted his shoulder. “Good night, son. A pleasure as always.”

Ichabod followed Jonathan with his eyes as the older man made his way to the stairs and up them. It wasn't like his father to get so emotional about things. Jonathan Crane was always stern faced and had always been quick to tell Ichabod that he got overly emotional like his mother.

His tone was always level and plaintively. There was never the crack of a smile. Perhaps an occasional frown accompanied by a soft “hmm” of contemplation. But always stoic and ridgedly British. 

Part of it, Ichabod attributed to his father's own stern upbringing. He had never met his grandfather but he had heard he was an unforgiving wretch that took any failure from his children as a personal insult and punished them “accordingly.”

Ichabod had never suffered such from his own father. If he received less than perfect marks on a project or test, his father would just give him a gruff, “Do try harder next time, son.” If he got perfect marks his father would nod and grunt with approval. 

_“Your father is a good man, Ichabod,” Miss Lori said softly. “And trust me when I say he loves you and is proud of everything you do. He just doesn't know how to tell you or show it.”_

Ichabod slipped at his bottle as he contemplated everything that had happened this day. 

It had been a surprise to see little Abbie Mills after so many years. Well, except she wasn't exactly little anymore. Tiny and petite, yes, but where she had once been flat and shapeless, she was now curved and shapely.

_“Will you be here in time for Sunday dinner? I might be able to get Abbie to come! She's on vacation for two weeks so she doesn't have any excuse to not come,” Miss Lori chimed._

He had been slightly disappointed when the eldest Mills daughter had been absent for dinner. Because Miss Lori would put on her brave face. Miss Lori's brave face wasn't as brave as she thought it was. He could tell she was upset. 

_“I pushed her too hard,” Miss Lori said. “I fell apart when her dad left. I know she has to resent me for being neglectful for a while. But I tried so hard…”_

_He mopped at Miss Lori's face with a handkerchief. “I am absolutely certain that's not what it is, Miss Lori. You were a wonderful mother. Perhaps she thought you intended to set her up for a date and panicked.”_

_Miss Lori snorted and laughed at that, relieving him of the handkerchief to wipe her own eyes. “I didn't think of that,” she chuckled. “You're right. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe she'll come next week.”_

When he next spoke to Miss Lori, Abbie had indeed come the following Sunday for a few hours. Not as long as she would have liked but it was at least for a short while. _“Abbie is a very busy girl with an important job,” Miss Lori had said with an edge of sadness._

Ichabod finished off his beer and disposed of the cap and bottle. With a heavy sigh he turned and trudged toward the living room. He stopped short when he saw his father at the fireplace, staring at an old family portrait, still dressed in his day attire. He hadn't heard him come back down.

The portrait was done when Ichabod was around seven, before they knew his mother had been sick. He was seated upon her lap in an elegant chair, his father standing stoically next to them with his hand on Ichabod’s shoulder.

It was then Ichabod noticed there was a smaller framed picture in Jonathan's hands. His father placed it on the mantel and sighed. “The finest group of ladies I ever did see,” Jonathan commented.

With that Jonathan turned and went back up stairs. Ichabod walked over to look at the photo and blinked in surprise to see a photograph of Miss Lori with Abbie, Jenny, Sophie, their daughter Delilah… and his father. It was a bit boggling to see a light smile on his father's face. Upon closer inspection, he could see his father's arm was around Miss Lori's waist, his hand cradled against her side.

He whirled around to ask his father _what the hell_ but he heard the gentle sound of his father's door closing and knew he would not be getting any answers tonight.


End file.
